


Passion'd Breath

by originally



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/pseuds/originally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samson and Blackwall find themselves in adjoining cells in Skyhold's dungeon. Samson finds a way to pass the time: telling Blackwall all about his past relationship with their dear Commander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passion'd Breath

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there by now. The first few days he had counted, but there was no point without a number to work towards; he knew he was here until he withered away or they decided to give him to the headsman, whichever came first. It’s what he expected when he stood up that day in Val Royeaux, but still. He wished he had his knife and a bit of wood. Something to do with his hands. None of them had come to see him, not even Sera. That hurt more than he liked to admit even to himself.

The day they’d brought in the red templar had broken up the monotony. They’d dragged him past Blackwall’s cell and thrown him unceremoniously into the next one, the guards giving both of them looks of utter contempt. Blackwall recognised the man as the templar that had been with Corypheus at Haven, Samson, but now he looked broken: small out of his armour, with his shoulders hunched and a red cast to his skin that glowed eerily in the half-darkness of the dungeon.

Not much had changed even then, apart from Samson’s screams that now kept Blackwall awake at night, until the Commander had started to visit. He would pace awkwardly in front of the cells, saying nothing, occasionally shooting Blackwall a furtive look before retreating back up to the main fortress.

“I bet you’re wondering why he comes down here,” came the unexpected rasp from the next cell one day, after Cullen had disappeared again, the tread of his heavy boots echoing in the cavernous space.

“I thought—templars,” Blackwall said, or tried to. His throat was dry and his voice sounded strange to his own ears, hoarse with disuse.

Samson laughed, a harsh, mirthless bark. “Templars, aye. I suppose that just about sums it up.”

There was silence again, and Blackwall suddenly found that he could no longer stand it. He cleared his throat roughly and said, “You knew each other? Before?”

“You could say that,” Samson said, and there was an undercurrent of laughter in his voice, as if he were telling a joke that Blackwall was not privy to. “We bunked together back in Kirkwall, before they kicked me out.”

“Why did they—”

“The Chantry doesn’t want templars to give a shit about the mages they guard,” Samson said, with an air of finality that suggested the subject was closed.

“So, you and the Commander were friends?” Blackwall asked instead, unwilling to return to silence.

“Oh, I’m not sure we were ever exactly  _friends_.”

There was something lascivious in Samson’s tone now that Blackwall hadn’t expected. He knew about barracks experimentation, of course, and about the things that men might turn to when there were few women around. But he’d always viewed it as something to keep quiet, hidden. Samson sounded almost proud.

“I… see,” he said slowly, and Samson laughed.

“Well, well. It seems you do. In that case, you must surely have noticed how pretty Ser Cullen is.”

“I don’t—”

“Arse almost like a woman on him,” Samson went on, as if Blackwall hadn’t spoken. “Though you can barely notice under that armour. And all those blonde curls falling onto that sweet little face. He was hardly more than a boy back then, you know, and his old Circle fucked him up. He used to wake up in the night, sweating and shaking, and look over at me with those big brown eyes. ‘ _Sam_ ’,” he said, affecting a high, breathy tone, “‘ _are you awake, Sam?_ ’”

“I don’t think you should be telling me this,” Blackwall began. His face felt hot, but surely that was nothing to do with Samson’s words. He didn’t think about men that way.

“Do you have any better ideas to pass the time in this Maker-forsaken place?” Samson snapped. “Why don’t you put your arm through these bars and see how far you can reach? I bet you’re a man who likes the feel of a prick in his hand.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know I can hear you panting when I talk about Cullen’s lovely arse,” Samson said, and Blackwall found he couldn’t stop his breath from catching. Samson laughed. “See what I mean?”

He was quiet for a long moment. Blackwall forced himself to let out the breath he was holding, willed his fluttering heart to slow.

“I used to hear him at night,” Samson said eventually, his voice pitched even lower, almost a purr. “Touching himself. He thought he was being subtle. Such a desperate, pious little thing, fisting his prick and biting his pillow and then whispering canticles after, as if the Maker was interested in one templar bringing himself off.” He paused, chuckled to himself. “One night, I reached under the covers and grabbed his wrist. I thought the boy was going to piss himself.”

Blackwall heard himself make a soft noise and he bit his lip hard, clamping down on the sound. He shifted where he sat on his bedroll, stiffening cock uncomfortable in his breeches.

“I said to him, ‘ _Why don’t you go a bit slower and enjoy it more? If you’re going to pray about it after, you might as well do something worth asking forgiveness for_ ’. Little did I know what a little whore he was going to turn out to be, and so good at taking direction to boot. It wasn’t long before I had my prick in his mouth, you know. Just imagine: a lap full of pretty curls, his big eyes looking up at you and those pink lips stretched wide and mouth stuffed full, all warm and wet and so eager to please, and ‘ _Is this okay, Sam?_ ’ and ‘ _Tell me what to do with my tongue, Sam_ ’,” he said, adopting the breathy voice again. “All he wanted was for me to tell him what a good boy he was. Maker…” He trailed off, apparently lost in the memories.

Blackwall’s cock was almost painfully hard now. It had been such a long time since he’d felt a warm mouth around him, a clever tongue teasing him, and Samson’s descriptions were so vivid, he could picture the Commander on his knees in front of him. He desperately wanted to grasp his cock but he daren’t, not with the other man no doubt listening for his every movement. He felt paralysed with indecision and hot all over with arousal.

“You might as well touch it,” Samson said conversationally, after a few moments of silence. “I know you want to. I can practically smell you dripping from here, you filthy lech. Oh, I don’t blame you,” he went on, clearly catching the gasp that Blackwall tried to muffle. “That boy was a marvel, and make no mistake.”

Face burning with shame, Blackwall unlaced his breeches with shaking hands and wrapped his fingers around his cock with a loud groan of relief that he didn’t even try to stifle.

Samson laughed, not unkindly. “That’s the stuff. No,” he said, as Blackwall began to tug, the slap of skin on skin echoing obscenely in the quiet of the cell, “not so fast. Maker’s hairy arse, you’re as bad as Cullen. Savour it, there’s precious little else to do around here.”

Almost against his own will, Blackwall felt his hand slow, his grip loosen.

“There’s a good lad,” Samson murmured.

The praise sent a jolt of electric lust through Blackwall, making him moan and his cock twitch in his hand.

“Now,” Samson went on, “why don’t you get yourself nice and slick so you can imagine Cullen’s pretty mouth or his tight little arse. Spit in your hand for me.”

There was no reason for him to do what Samson said. There wasn’t. He had no power over Blackwall. And yet… he pulled his hand away, quickly spat into it and spread the slick saliva over the length of his cock.

“Aye, there you go. Doesn’t that feel better?”

It did, though his hand felt strange around his cock, with his hand slicker and grip looser than usual.

“Slowly does it now,” Samson said, his voice rougher than it had been. “Pretend its young Cullen touching you all reverent-like. He was so careful with me, never quite enough pressure.”

Blackwall trailed his fingers up the length of his cock almost teasingly, the way that giggling Orlesian girls had done back in his army days, exploring the sensations of it in a way he usually didn’t, pulling the foreskin up and back again, brushing his thumb over the head until his hips bucked and he heard himself gasp out a ragged, “Please”.

Samson’s snort echoed in Blackwall’s ears but he was too desperate now to care about what kind of noises he was making.

“Go on then,” Samson said. “Fuck your hand. Imagine that arse of his, all shapely like a lady’s. Plenty of hip to grab onto as you bend him over and the  _sounds_ , sweet Andraste. Louder than a Lowtown whore once he got a prick inside him—”

Blackwall’s orgasm ripped through him, a sudden pulse of pleasure and sharp release, and he spilled into his hand with a moan wanton enough to rival any girl.

“Well,” Blackwall heard Samson say, as he wiped off his hand with a feeling of mingled shame and disgust, “that’ll give you something to think about the next time Cullen slinks down here, won’t it?”

The laughter that rang out this time had an edge of something mocking.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://originally.tumblr.com/post/114691459505/fandom-dragon-age-inquisition-pairing) on [my tumblr](http://originally.tumblr.com/).


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